Of Pink Caddies and Practical Jokes
by AriaAdagio
Summary: Didn't Janette say that the best revenge was revenge? Sequel to In Flagrante Delicto.


OF PINK CADDIES AND PRACTICAL JOKES  
  
Well, I couldn't resist. This is a sequel to my previous   
story, In Flagrante Delicto, which can be found at my   
website: http://filebox.vt.edu/users/diharris/Homepage.htm.   
Anyway, after receiving so much feedback, I just couldn't   
stop myself. Sorry I couldn't work the Pink Marshmallow   
incident in (lots of you wanted to know about that...), I'll   
try that next time :P Oh yes, and this has not been beta   
read, so read at your own risk.  
  
These characters aren't mine, etc. etc. You know the drill.   
Permission is granted to archive at the ftp site, and   
fkfanfic.com. Comments, questions, and whatnot may be sent   
to Diane Harris at aria5@vt.edu  
  
OF PINK CADDIES AND PRACTICAL JOKES  
  
(or)  
  
THE ONGOING WAR  
  
"Hey, Nick! Love the new color..."   
  
Nick just glared at his fellow officer as he stepped out of   
the precinct and into the dark parking lot, his flamboyant   
Caddy practically luminescent. He couldn't take much more   
of this and it was all LaCroix's fault... He'd sucked   
Nick's painter dry before he'd had a chance to come and fix   
the Caddy... And there was no one else in the whole city   
of Toronto that he'd trust with his precious car...   
  
And then there was the sign... Nat hadn't even mentioned it   
was stuck on his back through the WHOLE evening. He'd just   
about gone off the deep end when she'd broken out laughing   
for the twentieth time during their movie date. Eventually   
he'd noticed that it would occur whenever he turned his back   
to her, and when he'd gone up to observe his back in the   
mirror, he'd blushed to the point of being stoplight red.   
Something he'd never consider possible for a vampire, but   
then, there was always a first time for everything...  
  
At least he'd managed to get the superglued sign off the   
side of his Caddy... All that remained was pink. Yuck.   
Pink... His stomach grew weak just at the sight of it.   
  
This... This called for revenge!  
  
*****  
  
LaCroix stared at the microphone with a look of contempt.   
Fifteen callers, all asking him where he was ticklish...   
Not one with a genuine problem for him to ridicule...   
  
He pouted. Painting the Caddy had been fun, but he didn't   
hardly deserve this treatment for it... He snickered as   
he remembered clapping that sign on his son's back under   
the guise of a friendly slap. It was interesting that   
Nicholas hadn't caught that little gesture...   
  
The ringing of the phone interrupted his musings. "This is   
the Nightcrawler, I'm listening," he stated smoothly,   
praying that this wasn't another 'where are you ticklish'   
call.   
  
"I just wanted to comment on how funny yesterday's show   
was..."   
  
LaCroix slammed down the phone. Damnit!!! That was it,   
the final straw.   
  
This... This called for revenge!  
  
*****  
  
Nick walked into the precinct with a smile on his face after   
taking a slight fifteen minute detour. Everything was set.   
And LaCroix wouldn't know what'd hit him...   
  
*****  
  
LaCroix smiled as he approached the precinct. Nicholas   
would certainly not appreciate this, but hey, he didn't   
appreciate anything as it was. What was one more thing on   
his list?   
  
He walked into the precinct and was greeted by the desk   
sergeant. "Yessir? Can I help you?"   
  
LaCroix cleared his throat. "Yes, I'd like to speak with   
detective Nicholas Knight," he said, glancing left and   
right.   
  
The desk sergeant looked at him rather seriously. "Do you   
have an appointment?"   
  
"Oh no," LaCroix said, letting some menace into his voice,   
"but I'm a close friend. Family even..."   
  
The desk sergeant swallowed thickly and pointed him over to   
Nicholas's desk, where his son was typing dutifully.   
Probably some mundane report. LaCroix rolled his eyes as he   
approached. Careful to shield his presence from Nick.   
  
Unfortunately, his tedious mortal partner that Vachon was so   
fond of did see him. The little blond woman took one glance   
at him, her eyes wide, and said suspiciously, "What are   
_you_ doing here?" She didn't realize that Nicholas was   
well acquainted with him.  
  
Nicholas looked up at Tracy's outcry and his jaw just about   
dropped off his head as he stood to meet his approaching   
master. "LaCroix, what are you doing here?" Nicholas said,   
the same as the blond, although much more hostile.  
  
The woman turned to Nick. "Wait, _you_ know him?" she   
asked, her voice betraying her surprise.   
  
Nicholas snorted. "Of course I know him! The lousy good-  
for-nothing lunk painted..." Nick was quick to catch   
himself in his almost slip. "Er, never mind. Long story."  
  
LaCroix merely smiled. "Nicholas, I have something for   
you..." he whispered mysteriously, and he could see the   
blond woman leaning in towards him subconsciously, curious   
to see what he'd gotten. With that, he reached in to his   
jacket and started to pull something out.  
  
The metal flashed against the dim fluorescent lighting of   
the police station, and he could see several people around   
who were trying to look like they weren't paying attention   
to him start to tense up. Lighting fast, he withdrew the   
canister from his pocket and aimed it at his unsuspecting   
protege.   
  
"He's got a WEAPON!!!"   
  
People all around him started diving for the floor, while   
Nicholas and Tracy just sat there staring at him. As if the   
world were going in slow motion, he could detect a small   
sense of dread from Nicholas as if he suddenly figured out   
what was going to happen to him.  
  
LaCroix pressed a finger lightly onto the canister, ignoring   
the shouts of people throughout the precinct to cease and   
desist. There was a hissing noise, and suddenly, the pink   
silly string from the canister shot out all over his poor   
Nicholas.   
  
The blond woman doubled over laughing when she saw Nick's   
look of pure dumbfoundment, and the rest of the precinct   
soon began to join her.   
  
LaCroix took this moment to take his leave. "TAG! You're   
it!" he cried like a two-year-old, slapping Nick on the   
shoulder, and then he dashed out of the precinct.   
  
Nick stared down at his body, covered in pink, slimy string   
and then back at all the officers that were getting up of   
the floor. "Knight, what on Earth is going on!?" Reese's   
voice boomed through the air, and Nick couldn't help but   
gulp.  
  
"I'm it," he stated quietly, looking down at the floor as   
he felt his cheeks start to turn a lovely shade of scarlet.   
  
Reese walked over to him. "You're it?" he questioned.   
  
"Yeah, as in tag?"   
  
"You, a grown man, are playing tag with... another grown   
man..." Reese said, stating his words slowly as if he   
couldn't believe that his normally reclusive partner was now   
running around playing tag and acting silly in general.   
  
Tracy started laughing. "With the Nightcrawler, no less!"   
she giggled.   
  
Reese looked dumbfounded. "You mean that wacko who says all   
that depressing stuff on air? That was him!?"  
  
Nick nodded mutely as he began to pull the drying silly   
string from his hair and shirt, gathering it in clumps and   
tossing it into the wastepaper basket.  
  
"You know, Nick... I'm not even going to ask. I don't want   
to know, except for _one_ thing," Reese commented.  
  
Nick looked up, his eyes growing wider. "Yeah?"   
  
"Why the heck didn't you chase him? He obviously got you   
good, and I know you're not one to let that type of thing   
slide..."   
  
Nick just smiled. "He'll get a surprise sometime tonight.   
I consider that plenty of revenge," he said mysteriously.   
  
Reese nodded. "Uh-huh," he said, although it was obvious   
that he didn't quite get it. With that, he walked off,   
mumbling to himself about pink cars and crazy detectives and   
that damn confounded radio station.   
  
Tracy just watched as Nick sat down in his chair smugly,   
leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head as if he   
were king of the world. Something was definitely up...  
  
*****  
  
LaCroix whipped out his keys to open to the door to his   
house. "Yezzzzz! Yezzzz! Zis is a MASTair Peeze!" cried a   
heavily accented voice from somewhere within.   
  
Someone dare to enter his home?! A mortal, no less?! Fie!  
  
He flung the door open, but immediately froze. What... had   
happened... to his... house? He began to pant in quiet   
rage as a small man in an immaculate suit turned around   
amongst the sea of workers walking around. He would not   
drain him. He would not drain...   
  
"Ahhh! You must be zee ownAIR of zis fine home! Mr. Lucy   
Anne Luck-Wah! I hope you feel zat yeour moneeey has been   
well invested! But I must say, that zis is my finest work,   
no?"   
  
LaCroix couldn't speak a word. His money? No one knew the   
password to his accounts except... His stomach fell into   
his feet. Nicholas.   
  
"C'mon boyz! Feeenish up so zat Lucy Anne can enjoy our   
work! Chop chop!" The silly mortal clapped his hands and   
the workers began filing out of his house, and LaCroix   
could do nothing but seethe. Would... Not... Drain...  
  
"Oh, and here is zee bill. If you have any questionz, do   
not hezeetate to call my seKERetAIReeee," the man said,   
slapping a large yellow slip of paper into his hand as he   
left.  
  
And soon, the house was empty. Quiet. LaCroix stared   
around, completely at a loss. All his beloved knickknacks.   
Gone. Replaced by... THIS! And then he looked down at the   
bill, darting his eyes left to right as he scanned down the   
page.   
  
WHAT!? THIS HAD COST $250,000? He started breathing hard   
again, not able to control his temper. An interior   
decorator job that looked like something out of a   
cartoonist's worst nightmare, and got footed with a bill of   
$250,000?   
  
After what seemed like hours, he felt that he was able to   
move without going on a killing rampage. He sat down   
heavily on the only thing he could find to sit on, a   
chartreuse beanbag chair. And he looked around once again.   
There was his house. Completely destroyed and redesigned  
to look like...   
  
Like...   
  
He squinted his eyes, trying to come up with the correct   
term.   
  
Like...  
  
God, he didn't know what to call it. All that he knew was   
that the My Little Pony wallpaper would be the first to   
go...   
  
THE END  



End file.
